For Want Of A Basketball
by Asphodelium
Summary: There's a real reason why Dash hates Danny so blindly and irrationally, and it has nothing to do with him being a geek. It goes a lot farther back than that, and the worst part is, Danny has no idea what he really did to Dash... and Dash's little brother.


**Author's Note:** It's my second story in this section, third one ever put up and already I've established a pattern. Each time I end up saying 'I don't know where this idea came from' and 'I just had to write this'. Nowhere is this more true than with this story, which veers off of canon and may break your willing suspension of disbelief. I know the sequence of events seems a tad implausible, but I absolutely could not get this out of my brain. I'd like to clarify even though this story is Dash-centric it isn't anti-Danny. Danny just made a mistake, and who hasn't? Also, despite the summary, I don't really blame Danny. This is about why _Dash_ blames/hates Danny. Hate isn't rational, it doesn't see things as they really are, just what it needs to see.

As always, I am open to honest feedback, criticism, things I can improve on, any suggestions and likes/dislikes you may have. I'm still a beginning writer and this is a strange premise, so I completely understand that there may be flaws here I'm not seeing. Thanks in advance simply for reading. The Danny Phantom section has been very welcoming so far and I appreciate this.

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><p>It all started so well.<p>

They were playing in the park. Basketball was a good idea on a summer morning like this, while it was not yet sweltering. The thuds and loud stomping footsteps of the basketball court resounded, and all Dash would later remember of that day was his brother's total focus. He was tall for his age, thin and gangly, but so so fast and so, so devoted. He watched his brother with the same focus a nurse would watch a surgeon giving instructions. He did exactly as he was told, and if he didn't get it right, he kept going. That was who he was, deep down. He would never give anything up. He may have had teddy bears and liked the color pink, but if Cooper committed to something he would keep going until he could physical go no more. One day, they'd see his name up in lights with Dash's.

Dash was proud of him. Other kids had dweeby little nerds for siblings, but his brother was four years younger than him and could keep up with kids Dash's age. He'd done it before in football, a game he didn't even like all that much. Dash was sure he could do it in basketball. Cooper wanted to be a sports star. Their father laughed at it. Cooper was twiggy and born premature. He was more shy than his brother, and absolutely awful at math; the numbers switched plaecs and danced in his head. Dash was smart enough to make it as an athlete, but not the _runt_.

That was what their father called Cooper. That was the conversation he'd listened into last night, huddled by the dish washer in the kitchen while his parents talked in the living room. And that was why the six year old spent two solid hours practicing his shots. He was tall and thin. Maybe he wasn't bulky enough to do football, but he could do basketball. All he needed was a teacher. And who better to teach him than Dash? His big brother was amazing. He was good at everything, and everybody knew he was cool. He hung out with older kids and knew all about sports. And when Cooper had come into his brother's bedroom last night, barely holding back tears, Dash had used swearwords. He said to Hell with Dad, nobody was ever good enough for Dad. He said one day when the announcer yelled Cooper's name after a three pointer their dad would watch it on TV and see just how wrong he was. And Cooper believed Dash wholeheartedly because Dash was never wrong, and Dash would help him practice and make their dreams real.

They spent an exhausting morning working until Dash's legs gave out. His brother kept going, making basket after basket, three pointers, trick shots, one handed, Dash tossing him back the ball. His hand eye coordination was amazing. Sweat dripped down his brow and stained his white tank top, but he didn't care, didn't even notice. Again. Again. Farther back. Farther. Harder shots, shots while running, stationary, left handed shots. His body shook with exhaustion but he didn't stop until the ball went too high and careened down the hill, rolling far out of his reach.

"I'll go get it, Dashie," he said quickly. His hair was dark like their father's, but his eyes were blue and still sparkling from within somehow with a spirit that even his father couldn't break. "It's my fault."

He'd run down the slight hill of the park to the other part of the park below, where two other kids were playing. One was a black boy with a really cool hat and glasses. The other was a blue eyed white boy with a mess of black hair. It was that boy who had picked up the ball. He stood by the swings, looking exasperated and sporting a bruise on his forehead. When Cooper came towards him, he scowled.

"Can't anybody swing without getting things thrown at them anymore?" he whined, his black friend standing behind him sighing in sympathy. "I swear, basketball players think they own the whole park!"

"That's just how jocks are, man," his friend groaned. "It's not enough they hog it at school, now we can't even hang out here."

Now, despite being referred to fondly by Dash as 'my little clone', Coop was only similar in sports. He was not outspoken, not someone who would normally run up to strangers and talk to them. He tended to hang back and observe people more than engage, he liked to sit and watch the clouds rather than say hi to the new neighbors, and he'd be more likely to sit and read a book at lunch rather than go over to a bunch of friends. Unless Dashie invited him over in the lunchroom to hang out with his friends, Cooper was more of a solitary creature. But he'd told Dash he'd do this, so he gathered his courage and spoke to the older boys, hands clenching and unclenching nervously, blue eyes darting between them.

"Can I have my ball back?" he asked, trying to imitate the authoritative tone of his father and older brother.

"Say please," the black haired boy said, and his friend chuckled.

"Please," Cooper said, starting to get nervous. That was Dash's ball, he needed to get it back. Their dad would blame Dash and he'd scream at him and that wasn't supposed to happen, Dash was the good kid. He couldn't get Dash in trouble. His desperation must've shown in his eyes because the older boys exchanged a look.

Then, in one smooth motion, the older boy threw the ball across the street into someone's yard.

Cooper dashed for it, but even as he was doing so he heard barking. The next thing he knew a massive black lab was snarling at him, crashing against the fence. He froze for a second, breathed in, and then started working on climbing the six foot high fence. That ball was his family's. He knew what would happen if he left it behind. He wasn't going to be afraid of some mutt. Football stars didn't have to be afraid of dogs, they weren't afraid of anything, and he scaled the wall with shaking legs and unsteady hands. The older boys behind him quit their laughing immediately, and the next thing he knew there were four hands on him pulling him down. He couldn't hear their voices clearly over the barking, but there was regret written all over the face of the boy who'd thrown the ball. Cooper wasn't crying, but his eyes brimmed with them.

"Lay off him!" Dash's familiar voice shouted. Wondering what had taken so long, he'd come running to find two boys yanking on his brother, and saw him fall to the ground. Anger flashed in his identical blue eyes. "Picking on little kids make you feel big, man? Can't win a race against me in gym so you gotta beat up on a six year old?"

"I-" Danny started to say, but Dash shoved past him, helping his brother to his feet. He glared at the boys and then at the dog.

"Is our ball back there?" he asked Cooper. The dark haired sibling nodded. "And that loser threw it, didn't he? 'Cause even you can't throw that far."

Cooper shook his head. He didn't want a fight. He hated fighting. He hated when his parents fought and when they both yelled so loud he couldn't sleep. She was talking about leaving, lately, and that scared him. He hated when his brother fought with other kids and they were tattletells and got teachers involved. Then the teachers would tell their dad and he'd yell at Dash. Dash was a yeller, too. And Cooper was tired of yelling. He wanted things to be peaceful like that weekend they went to the lake or the times after dinner he and Dash played after their homework was done. If he fought this kid here he'd do it at school. Then not only would Dash be more like their dad, he'd be in trouble with him too all over again.

But he was Cooper and when things were wrong he made them right. When he couldn't make a basket he sat there and tried until her could. When he didn't get his alphabet down right away and his father was mad, he took the alphabet book and worked past his bedtime with a flashlight until his eyes hurt. When he forgot to load up the dishwasher he got up and unloaded it after they were clean. When Dash had forgotten to clean his room Cooper scrambled to do it so their dad wouldn't get mad. He could make everything better. All he had to do was try hard enough. That was what he told himself, what Disney movies told him, the mantra he lived his six year old life by. He believed he could fix the world if only he put more effort into it.

"I did it!" he yelled, surprising everyone with the intensity of his voice. "I'm so sorry Dashie! I didn't mean to! These guys were just getting me off the fence, that's all! This is all my fault!"

Hot tears streamed down his cheeks. Dash had to believe him, he had to, or there'd be more fighting. And the more fighting there was, the more his stomach twisted inside him. He often threw up his dinner and skipped by breakfast. The way his parents shouted made him literally sick. ("The pansy can't even take noise," his father had remarked once.) He didn't understand why he couldn't fix his parents' fighting at home because he was trying, he was trying so hard to be good. Here, though, today, just between three kids, he had to be able to stop that. He just had to. He was supposed to fix everything!

And Dash didn't believe him for a second but he could see his brother freaking out, and relented. "It's alright Coop. Come on, let's go ditch these two. Dad's due to pick us up in a little bit anyway. It's okay, man." He shot a dark look at the 'loser' who had thrown the ball, putting a hand on his brother's shoulder and guiding him away.

When they spotted the bright red of their father's Toyota Tercel, Dash took a moment to wipe the tears from his younger brother's face, because he knew his father would be furious if either of his sons cried. That was why Cooper kept his teddy bears under his bed, where he could hold them and cry into them in peace. Dash knew about them but would never tell a soul. He had to guard Cooper from their dad, had to find some way to make the old man lay off him. He could take it. He was Dash Baxter, king of cool. And it didn't matter what his old man said. Coop was different. He was youger. More fragile. Dash didn't pick on his brother, he protected him. He loved him. Some days, he wasn't sure he loved his dad. It was an awful thought, but he had it more and more as he got older.

Sure enough, when their father saw the ball was missing, he started shouting.

"You just don't give a rat's ass, do you Cooper? When your mother lost her job I told you we'd all have to be more careful with things, and you just don't care. Do you know how hard I work to keep things good for you two? Do you? Look at me when I'm speaking to you, Cooper Martin Baxter! _Look at me_, you piece of trash! I am so sick of you two acting like we're made of money-"

"I can replace it," the younger sibling whimpered, hands clenching into fists to stop their shaking. His grip was so tight his nails dug into his palms and drew pinpricks of blood as he fought back tears. "I can get it back!"

"You had _better_ get it back! This is unacceptable, Cooper. And Dash, what were you doing, just wandering off while your brother played? What the hell is wrong with you? Do you know what could've happened to him while you were off thinking about daisies and bunnies? You're supposed to know better than that!"

Dash ducked his head, suitably ashamed, and the ride home was silent. The rest of the day was the same as any. They cleaned up their rooms, they watched TV, then they spent a loud family dinner watching the parents debate everything. The bills, the ice cube trays, the laundry, and the basketball. At that point Dash stood up, took Cooper's hand and yanked him away from the dinner table, so they could go somewhere quiet. So he wouldn't have to here his father yelling. They turned up the volume on Dash's radio but it didn't quite blare out everything, and the younger boy sat on the bed, looking at his feet.

Finally Dash turned the radio off and sat down beside him. "It wasn't your fault, Coop. It's not important anyway."

The dark haired child smiled but it didn't reach his eyes. "Sometimes I wish you were my dad instead, Dashie."

"I'm totally gonna have a bunch of kids one day," the blonde smiled. "They'll get to watch TV whenever they want, and eat dinner in their rooms and they'll have a swimming pool. I'll never yell at them." He wrapped an arm around Cooper, still smiling. "And I'll name one of 'em after you."

"What if they're girls?" his brother asked, appalled. "That's not a girl's name."

"Yes it _is_. A tough girl who plays basketball and likes to wrestle. And if anybody made fun of her I'd make them stop just like I do for you."

Cooper leaned his head on Dash's shoulder, reassured. "I'm glad you're my brother."

"Likewise, twerp." He tousled Cooper's wavy hair, smirking. "You're cool no matter what Dad says, okay? Forget him."

But he didn't.

It was late that night when Cooper opened the door to his family's house. So late he just went out the front instead of the back. He had a black hoodie on so he wouldn't be so cold. And he brought a flashlight. Other than that, he had nothing, and he walked. In that dark hour where streetlights cast everything in an eerie unnatural orange glow and every shadow seemed like it contained a nightmare, he walked. His legs grew cold, his feet hurt, and he didn't remember the playground seeming so far away when they were in the car, but he saw familiar buildings and pressed on, every block an endless expanse, his willpower keeping him going. It was night so no one could see him tremble or look back again and again, debating just running back home. He was scared. He wished Dashie was here. But Dashie wouldn't have come, so he had to do this alone.

Finally, he saw the hill of the park, the gentle slopes that divided it into three sections. And as he walked down it, he saw the yellow house with the dog and his precious basketball, now stained orange by the city's eerie streetlights, the whole backyard cast into shadow. Luckily he had come prepared, and he turned the flashlight on. He saw the ball, and better yet no dog. In fact, he walked a full circle around the house, and there was no barking at all. Reassured, he tucked the flashlight into the band of his pants and began climbing the length fence, struggling for several minutes to get over the high edge. He nearly toppled to the ground, his grip on the metal slipping dangerously, but a few more steps and, not looking down because everybody knew you weren't supposed to, he was safe and sound on the ground.

He simply threw the ball out over the side. Climbing back over was a daunting process, but as he made it across, and clung at the top of the bar, he knew everything would be okay. He would get the ball back and his parents would stop fighting. He and Dashie would play more. Everything was finally, finally going to be okay, and as he set foot back on the pavement relief made him giddy. He wrapped the ball in both arms, taking off at a trot towards home, sure of his way. He hadn't had to fight off the dog or go home without a ball. He was Cooper Baxter, future basketball star! He could do anything. He could make everything right if he tried hard enough.

He was about halfway home when it happened.

The driver tried to brake, her hand to God she did, but she'd just been speeding so fast there wasn't time. Her friend in the side seat screamed, and made the hysterical call to nine one one.

The Baxter residence got an alert as to what had happened at around three AM. Dash's ever screaming parents were silent. His mother brought one of Cooper's teddy bears. But by the time they got there, too much blood had been lost. They didn't let Dash in to see the b- to see Cooper. He was too young, it was too gruesome, and so he sat alone in the waiting room for the ER holding the dinky bear his mother had passed off to him as she went. He stared at its glassy eyes, the mauve-brown fur, the ribbon around the bear's neck. Just twenty feet away the fight to end all fights was going off, and this time, it was truly the final fight. His mother would file for divorce later that very morning, her things packed and gone by the end of the week.

But Dash didn't hear them. All he heard was his brother's voice in his head. _I wish you were my dad... I can get it back... this is all my fault..._ Tears welled up in his eyes. None of this wouldn't have happened if that loser at the park hadn't thrown the ball. That kid, what was his name? Fenter or Fentoni or something? He'd ask around at school. He'd find him. And until the day he died, he would make that bully pay for destroying Dash's family. His best friend, the one who thought he was a rock star, the smiling face he could spend whole afternoons goofing off with, the one who believed in his dreams of being a pro athlete, the only who'd _ever_ really believed in him or loved him... he was dead so Fent-whatever could get to be the big man for a few seconds, pick on a little kid for kicks.

He held the teddy bear close and shut his eyes.

The next time he saw that Fen_turd_, he was going to make him wish he was never born.


End file.
